


Longer than the Medicis

by Amy R (Brightknightie)



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Episode: "Partners of the Month", F/M, Historical, Poetry, Renaissance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-30
Updated: 1999-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightknightie/pseuds/Amy%20R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in their endless parade of nights, Janette and Nick host a party.  (Poem: 9 stanzas, 18 lines each, pentameter blank verse.)<br/>      <em>"But through candlelit hours of music / and talk, she could feel Nicolas waiting, / waiting, waiting for her, his molten voice / singing a long, slow kiss through the chamber."</em><br/><span class="small">(Original: August 1999.   Nominee: '99 FK Fanfic Award.)</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Longer than the Medicis

**I**

As she hunted them, their hostess, moving  
from seats near the minstrels to the circle  
of the old carol dance, she knew some saw  
her pointed shoes peek from her sweeping skirt  
while other eyes weighed her heavy jewels.  
She knew they saw the candlelight sparkle  
on the butterfly veil fluttering  
over abundant ebony curls:  
against every intent of the garment  
never concealing, rather revealing —  
though only that which she willed them to see.  
She knew some saw the white chemise bursting  
through subtly slashed sleeves, while others measured  
the superbly-trained step of her servants  
and delicate decadence of her hall.  
She knew they saw all those things, only those  
and none else, the mortals Janette hunted,  
as she walked among them, smiling, and chose.

 **II**

He saw all those things, their host, as he walked  
with her, then alone, in the candlelight —  
skirting their guests, for he watched as they watched.  
He saw all those things, as she intended  
they be seen, but he alone saw more yet,  
more than she would ever willingly show.  
Like the mortals there, his eye and body  
read the smooth round curves under red brocade.  
Like the mortals there, he read the message  
she meant to tell: that she was a woman  
of station and wealth and beauty and sex,  
available, to the best of the best —  
if they dared. But he alone of them knew  
how little it meant, that moment of blood,  
the length and the depth of a meal. He knew,  
yet tonight Nicolas scowled at those  
who wanted her as badly as he had  
when his blood beat hot and human like theirs.

 **III**

For he saw much more than the others could.  
He knew when to look for the flashing mind  
behind the languid eye, when to listen  
for the supple laugh in the solemn mien.  
He knew the greed that was the vampire  
in Janette, and the greed that was the child.  
Nicolas knew her in strength and command,  
his conqueror, and loved her so. As well,  
he knew Janette in the warm woman's heart  
whose banked embers refused to be smothered  
beneath immortal stone, and loved her so.  
He knew the most the mortals saw of her  
this sultry summer night was a shadow  
of voluptuous temptation in red,  
but she was all that is bright in his eyes.  
As much better than they as he knew her,  
by that much more did he desire her,  
and his gaze followed her across their hall.

 **IV**

Janette frowned sternly as she felt his eyes  
fix upon her, an articulate look  
by which she told him to choose his meal  
while the music played. The ambassador's  
entire retinue stood before him,  
and what was one stray foreigner come dawn?  
Smiling again at her guests all around,  
her hand brushed the arm of the second son  
of a once noble house, now fallen low,  
with only its high name and gentle blood  
to sustain it — and its blood, to Janette,  
smelled sustaining indeed. Yes, this warm blood  
would fill her with raw power, high pleasure,  
until the empty body was found stabbed,  
its light purse cut; she trained her servants well.  
Janette found safe comfort in the knowledge  
that this hunt and this night would roll behind  
like all other hunts and nights. All but one.

 **V**

And still she felt that one's eyes upon her.  
Her Nicolas. Her choice, her dream, her love.  
She felt his gaze caress her high, bare brow,  
then slide down her throat and breast to the hand  
holding folds of gown gathered at her waist.  
Amused, the hostess tipped back her proud head  
to meet his eyes. To be trapped in his eyes.  
When had the knight become so much of her?  
How had this Nicolas grown into all  
that lifted her heart and brightened her world?  
Worshipful, his gaze asked nothing of her,  
nothing for her to allow or deny.  
If she took the mortal there, before all,  
Nicolas would not stop her, but with her,  
by her word, would run from the broken code  
or confront it. The mortal heart at hand  
withered to a clumsy cacophony  
while those bottomless eyes drew her to drown.

 **VI**

Nicolas watched her eyes rise to him,  
blue sparks as scorching as the summer winds,  
as oblivious to their guests as he  
for all she admonished his attention.  
Ignoring their guests was, her frown declared,  
wasteful and rude, and she would have neither  
in her home or her hall or her hunt.  
Apologetically, Nicolas bowed.  
He had no wish to tamper with her pose  
in front of their guests, in front of their world.  
Nicolas had no wish to reveal  
the vampire behind her human screen,  
nor the human longings still smoldering  
under the glacier of vampiric ice.  
He would not break her masks, his smile said.  
Later, when he and she were all the world,  
and she held him in her arms and her blood,  
she would cast them off herself in his heart.

 **VII**

The shudder which ran through her slender frame  
at the growing threat in that dear promise  
was not visible, not even to him,  
as she returned her gaze to her party,  
her guests and her hunt. But the slick, sweet scent  
of mortal blood slid away from her now,  
a faint tendril of mist lost in the fog  
of the feel of Nicolas's patient eyes.  
His passion was ever both their pleasure,  
but his devotion? To her, a terror.  
When had he become so much of her self?  
How had she fallen so far into trust?  
What could she do, that he would cease to stare,  
holding her fast with that still-shining soul,  
loving her with all he was and could be,  
asking nothing but that she love him too?  
He asked nothing, just everything she was.  
And if she stayed, someday she would give it.

 **VIII**

Stronger than someday, Janette pressed the thought  
down below her pride, down below her need,  
down below this love like none she had known.  
With a half smile, half nod, she ensured  
that the younger son of the noble blood  
would linger as the others departed.  
But through candlelit hours of music  
and talk, she could feel Nicolas waiting,  
waiting, waiting for her, his molten voice  
singing a long, slow kiss through the chamber.  
Like the moist air, his waiting embraced her,  
and when at last she drew her mortal meal  
behind a pillar in the emptied hall,  
she sighed to see into eyes untested,  
not her Crusader's, bold, bright and fallen,  
pure and depraved, each to its utmost end,  
so like the consuming love he offered  
which she had just begun to learn to fear.

 **IX**

Where the doors stood open to the garden,  
his back to the all-but-empty chamber,  
Nicolas waited. Where the heavy fruit  
burst for ripeness and the vines split for sap,  
he waited for her. Where the mossy earth  
rolled softly into the sheltering dark,  
the knight kept vigil. Only by her choice,  
her word, her decision, could he free her  
as he wished, unlocking the still-warm heart  
she so rarely dared show even herself.  
And so when she came to him there at last,  
bathed in the scents of their garden that night,  
slowly bursting apart under his lips  
then melting back together in his arms,  
he could not have imagined that one day  
she would take back the key to all she was.  
He loved her forever, and in the blood,  
which bore no mask, she loved forever too.

 

  
**— End —**   


**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimers.** Parriot and Cohen created Forever Knight; Sony owns it. All characters and situations are of course entirely fictional.
> 
>  **Citations.**   _Janette, "Partners of the Month" past:_ "We have been building, Nicolas — longer than the Medicis. Ninety-seven years is longer than any mortal marriage."  _Janette, "Partners of the Month" present:_ "I couldn't accept the depth of his feeling for me. I wasn't used to that."  _Costuming:_ The clothing and styles described in the poem come from James Laver's  Concise History of Costume and Fashion, Scribners, 1969.  _Prosody:_ For the mechanically-inclined: the piece is pentameter blank verse in nine stanzas of eighteen lines each.
> 
>  **Inspiration and Beta-Reading.** This poem was dedicated to Susan G. on the occasion of her birthday, 1999 (FKFic-L had a tradition of August as "Susan's Birthday Month," celebrating her immense contributions to the fandom). My thanks go to Leela, Shelley and Jo for their observant comments on drafts of this poem.
> 
>  **Thank you for reading!** Constructive criticism is welcome. Let me know what you think?


End file.
